“And I was right about the last three cars.”
“The Civic caught fire.”
Cal emerged from the engine bay like a grease-streaked prophet, wiping his hands on a rag that was already more oil than cloth. “That was operator error.”
He spotted me and his face changed into the exact expression people got right before they said something that would ruin your morning.
“Hey, Michael,” he said brightly. “You look like shit.”
“Thanks, Cal. Really appreciate that.”
“I’m just saying.” He waved at my face like it was a caution sign. “You’ve got that whole ‘haven’t slept in days’ thing going on. Very haunted Victorian child.”
Mason finally looked up. He didn’t smile, but his eyes softened in that quiet, unsettling way he had. Like he could see the bones under your skin. “You okay?”
“Fine,” I said automatically.
The lie came out smooth. Practiced. A reflex so old it barely felt like lying anymore. It felt like breathing.
“Mm.” Mason didn’t argue, which somehow made it worse. “You here for the electrical supplies?”
“Yeah. The stuff I ordered.”
“Back office,” Mason said, jerking his thumb toward the rear of the garage. “Gideon’s got it. Fair warning.”
“What.”
Cal made a face like he’d just tasted something bitter. “He’s in a mood.”
“When is he not in a mood?”
“Fair,” Cal admitted. “Man’s got exactly two settings: cryptic and grumpy. Sometimes both at once if you’re blessed.”
“That’s not true,” Mason said mildly. “He also has disappointed.”
Cal’s eyes lit. “Right. Cryptic, grumpy, and disappointed. The Holy Trinity of Gideon Ward Emotional Expression.”
I heard myself make a sound that might have been a laugh. It surprised me—like a muscle I hadn’t used in a while had twitched and remembered it could.
“You two ever think about doing stand-up?” I asked.
“Every day,” Cal said solemnly. “But Mason refuses to be my straight man.”
“I’m not your anything.”
“Hurtful. After all we’ve been through.”
“We’ve been through me covering your shifts when Ty has soccer games,” Mason said without looking back down. “That’s what we’ve been through.”
“And I appreciate it deeply.” Cal pressed a hand to his chest. “You’re the Watson to my Holmes. The?—”
Mason lifted the hose in one hand. “I’m going to spray you if you don’t stop.”
I left them to it, the bickering following me like background music as I headed for the back office.
I passed the Wall of Regret—bent parts and destroyed components mounted like trophies, each one labeled with a marker and a lesson learned.
The office door was open.
